


something so precious about this

by dioscorea



Category: DC Extended Universe, Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Developing Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-28 20:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20432300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dioscorea/pseuds/dioscorea
Summary: The little girl laughs, goddamn delighted, and plops down in his lap. Croc knocks her sideways with one arm and holds her in place, and almost before GQ realizes it she's falling asleep. What the actual fuck."This is the cutest shit I've ever seen," Harley gushes, still fucking photographing them.





	something so precious about this

**Author's Note:**

> I DON'T KNOW WHAT THIS IS BUT I DO KNOW I AM SORRY ABOUT IT
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Things are weird after Midway.

GQ assumes that's just par for the course when you expect to die but don't. GQ likes being alive, likes not knowing, however briefly, what it would feel like to get blown up. But it's weird. There's a longer period of time than he expected where he's reconciling what should have happened with what did, and it’s throwing him off. It hadn't mattered before, SEALS or ARGUS—team or no team, when shit hits the fan, GQ has usually been the reason GQ walks out. Shot, stabbed, electrocuted, drowned—once, very memorably, electrocuted _ while _ drowned—GQ gets himself out, puts the entire experience down, and moves on. And he can’t, now, because when it comes down to it, there's only one reason he got out at all, and that's Killer Croc.

Croc, who knew before getting into that dark water that GQ didn't want him there. Who had no reason to help him, less than a reason, but did anyway; grabbed his foot and pulled hard, spun him around so fast GQ actually got a little dizzy. Croc who curled his massive body around him and held on, arms wrapped around GQ so tight he could feel his scales through his wetsuit.

GQ had orders and Croc had his, and they definitely did not include saving GQ’s sorry ass from an explosion.

GQ’s not sure what to do with that, but he wants to figure it out. Figure Croc out. So he starts small, still cautious despite everything, just gearing up closer to him instead of with the SEALS across the room, stopping by his cell to say hi, and now—

He's not sure he can call them friends. Or at least he’s pretty sure Croc wouldn’t call them friends. But Croc doesn’t toss him out on his ass when he comes to his cell to watch BET for hours, doesn’t make jokes about eating him when GQ unthinkingly asks if he wants a snack. They sit next to one another in briefings, on the chopper; everyone leaving a wide berth around Croc that’s more than enough room to fit GQ. He doesn’t talk very much, but Croc never talked much to begin with. GQ is long used to Croc just ignoring him if he gets annoying, or getting in the water if he’s really bothered. Considering GQ once saw him punch Boomerang in the face to get him to shut his mouth, he figures he’s fine. Croc’s not one for subtlety, so if he wants GQ gone, he’ll know. GQ doesn’t really think about the thing slowly growing between them until one afternoon when he does: Croc’s not in his cell, some sort of unscheduled check on his neck implant, GQ found out later, but the pit that opened up in his stomach at the idea of not seeing him—then GQ tries desperately not to think about it. He tries not to think about a lot of things regarding Croc, these days, but most of all not about the razor-sharp pleasure he feels under the full weight of his gaze, or when he seamlessly fits in beside him. He tamps it all down hard, but if he slips a couple times and lets his knee rest against Croc’s thigh during a briefing or leans too heavily on him during an ex-fil, well. Croc doesn’t seem to care.

Too bad GQ can’t say the same.

There is very little left when the mission's over. Buildings spill into the street, cars are strewn across the asphalt into the sidewalk. Smoke is still coming from somewhere, though GQ can’t tell from what. Not his problem. He likes missions with less surface destruction than this, but it's not like Lazer Gun Hands Douchecanoe gave them much of a choice. GQ’s heading back to the extraction point, idly debating the best order for a sandwich and a shower, when he hears something. He pauses, considering. For all she loves dangling their forced servitude over the team's heads, Waller has never once pretended their penance includes sticking around to help with anything afterward. Medics and clean up are already on the scene, working steadily. It would probably be fine.

He hears it again. A tiny cry.

He's looking before he consciously decides to, peering around various bits of rubble. There weren't too many civilians down here, but GQ remembers hearing a couple of buildings being evacuated out behind them during the fight. Flag gives him a questioning look but doesn't stop walking when GQ flashes five fingers at him, keeps heading towards the rest of the team at the chopper. GQ turns to inspect a badly mangled overturned car and finds two sad, wet eyes peering back at him. Fear slams unexpectedly into him, but it's followed quickly by relief. "Well, hello there," GQ murmurs. "Finally found you." It's a little girl, not older than one, small pudgy hands clutched around a loose seatbelt as she cowers under a broken seat. The baby cries fitfully, olive skin streaked with dust and tears. No bodies are anywhere nearby, which GQ decides to be a good sign. The car is too crushed for him to reach in; if she’s getting out she’s going to have to come to him. "It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re all right. You just head towards me and we’ll go find your mom, okay?" The girl seems to consider this. "Yeah, that's right, your mom. Come on out so we can find her. Come on, darlin’." 

It's slower than he wants, and she moves backward away from him a couple of times, but she starts making some decent progress out of the wreckage. He doesn't try reaching for her, just keeps talking to her about how he knows this is a very bad day while he inches back, hoping she'll follow. The chopper whirs to life behind him and he briefly panics about how much more time Flag will give him. Probably not much. If she keeps moving she should be out in time, he just needs to not spook her. 

"GQ. Time's up."

GQ startles, spins around. He's been so focused on the baby he didn't hear Croc come up. Croc, who is a fucking enormous _ killer crocodile-man _ and regularly terrifies the guards at Belle Reve, let alone— 

He spins back. The little girl hasn't retreated back into the car, thank god, staring up at Croc with eyes wide as saucers.

Croc stares back.

"Uh," GQ starts. "Okay. I'm just gonna…" he carefully reaches out towards the girl, scooping her up while she's distracted. Even at GQ's full height and with her by his shoulder, her head still cranes back to look at him. He looks back and forth between her and Croc, but they’re locked in some sort of staring contest. GQ resolutely heads towards the chopper. This is probably the first time she's seen someone like Croc outside of television. Or maybe including television, GQ thinks, glancing down where a small fist is twisting in his uniform. How old are babies before they can watch TV?

"What the hell is that?"

"What’s wrong, Flag?” Deadshot says. “You need a refresher?” 

“When two people love each other very, very much—" Harley pipes in.

Flag glares. "Both of you fuck off. Why do you have a child?"

GQ's been quietly wondering that himself, but he’s not going to say that out loud. "She was crying in a car. No sign of any parents. She needs to be checked over." 

"There are teams for that. We're not it.” GQ is uncomfortably aware of this. The little girl must start to think so too, and makes a soft, upset sound into GQ’s chest. “Go hand her over to S&R and let’s go."

"Aw, she's beautiful. Hi angel, I'm Auntie Harley, and these are all your uncles—"

Flag pales. "Absolutely fucking not." 

The team descends into its regular madness. It usually makes for some nice white noise while GQ levels out after missions, but right now he’s increasingly aware that the soft upset sounds from the girl are rising in tandem with the chatter from the group. Croc notices too, and moves to stand by his shoulder, frowning slightly. GQ hoists her up farther, half-assedly bouncing in place. Flag has given up on trying to rein Harley in for the moment and heads toward GQ, arms extended. GQ moves away without entirely meaning to. It's _ Flag_, for God's sake, but he still shifts, keeping her out of his reach. Flag's eyes narrow. "Look. I'll take her over if you don't want to. But we're done here." That's a more generous offer than GQ could have expected, considering how weird he’s being about this. He really should hand her off. Even if he did know what he was doing, this is well outside of the evil entity wheelhouse they usually operate in. The girl is straight-up fussy, now, moving restlessly and babbling her complaints. His chest clenches and he pulls her closer. But Flag is waiting expectantly, so GQ takes a breath and loosens his grip, debating how to hand her over for optimal baby holding when she wiggles hard. GQ's surprised enough at the sudden movement that he has half a second to worry he's going to drop her before she's out of his arms completely. 

The group goes silent. GQ glances surreptitiously at the ground when realizes Flag's arms are also empty. 

But Croc's aren't. 

Croc is huge. GQ knows this, is used to the feel of his bulk towering above him when Croc’s at his back, has seen the way his hands swallow up weapons and bad guy’s necks. This, though, is another order of thing altogether. The baby almost completely disappears in the span of his wide hands, just her arms and head poking out the top. GQ suddenly remembers with excruciating clarity just how easy it was for Croc to hold him in the water, what those hands felt like through his suit, and has to clear his throat. Really not the time.

The girl looks up at Croc and pats his arm. GQ watches, bewildered, as Croc shifts her in his grip until she’s in the crook of his elbow like a tiny football. She murmurs happily, flaps a hand around. Croc takes that as some sort of cue and heads into the chopper. 

Well. That settles that. 

Croc appears to be listening intently to the unintelligible rambling from the child perched on his thighs when GQ finally loads in. He sinks down next to him in his usual spot, probably looking gobsmacked if Harley's uncomfortable sympathetic expression was anything to go by. Croc gives him a long look, and GQ braces himself for whatever is coming—but all he gets is a handful of baby as Croc sticks her in his lap before settling in to stare out the window. Harley is furiously taking photos with a phone she got from god knows where. One of her pigtails is gone, the band sacrificed to the little girl, who's currently gnawing on it while watching Harley a little warily. GQ can relate.

GQ's hoping she stays occupied, or at least interested in something other than 'bothering Croc while he tries not to ralph,' but it's not long until she's squirming again, trying to get out of his grasp. He picks her up, stands her on his thighs; she makes it roughly ten seconds before realizing this puts her even closer to her new best friend (best friend—new dad? Can crocodiles have things imprint on them? GQ needs to sit down and do the google search he's been studiously avoiding this entire time) and starts trying to walk onto his lap. Croc reaches out almost absentmindedly, clawed fingers curling gently around one arm. She wobbles but stays standing, then decides she doesn't like not having his attention—christ, GQ hates that he can relate to that, too—before poking his chin gently. Then harder.

Croc lets his head turn but keeps his eyes fixed on the horizon. The poking doesn’t stop. GQ has seen him fight nine guys with semi-automatics at once, has been carried to an extraction point by him while he had a fucking _ harpoon _ sticking out of him, but it’s the persistence of a twelve-month-old that breaks Croc's concentration. 

He doesn't go unrewarded for it, at least. The girl smiles lopsidedly, fingers closing around his chin, and brings her other hand up to pat at his face. Croc blinks at her, horizontal lids flashing, and her mouth drops open. GQ holds his breath, but she continues to be braver than all of them, and puts a palm flat on Croc's cheek. 

GQ openly stares as she holds Croc's face in her tiny hands, babbling at him quietly like he's the one who needs to be reassured by all this. Croc tilts his head slightly, blinks again—definitely on purpose, GQ thinks half hysterically, almost like he's—

She laughs, goddamn delighted, and plops down in his lap. Croc knocks her sideways with one arm and holds her in place, and almost before GQ realizes it she's falling asleep. What the actual fuck.

"What the fuck," he says.

Croc shifts his gaze to him, head still tilted. He doesn't blink again. 

"This is the cutest shit I've ever seen," Harley gushes, still fucking photographing them. 

Screw the shower and the sandwich. He needs a nap before anything else.

GQ mourns the nap he's absolutely not getting. 

He doesn't know how parents do this. His mom did this. _ Lawton _ did this, and he's a goddamn international assassin. He thinks back to Flag's offer to give the girl to a team better equipped than them and briefly wishes he could have let her go. He wouldn't have had the chopper ride, but. 

The chopper was surreal, but medical was a _ nightmare_. 

GQ thinks about the crying that started as soon as they walked in and wouldn't stop, the escalation to screaming when she was pulled out of Croc's hands and put on an exam table. They wouldn't let Croc touch her, wouldn't even let GQ touch her, just asked GQ questions that got more pointed about how they found her, what happened to her while Croc had her. Like he would do anything to hurt her. Like he already had, and GQ was lying about it, covering it up—ignoring the fact that she was perfectly fine before they took her, thank you very much. It didn't help that they only spoke to GQ, just repeating their questions every time he grit out _ why don't you ask him_. Croc ignored them right back, stood silently off to the side while the girl screamed and GQ's rage swelled like a wave, and he was going to fucking lose it if he had to put up with this for much longer. 

It felt like a miracle when Flag walked in, took one look at the room, and announced they were done. The docs clearly didn't like it but they could go fuck themselves; GQ picked up the girl, stared them all down as he handed her to Croc, and stormed out. 

He was still pretty furious by the time Croc caught up. He couldn't stop replaying the whole thing in his head, every single embarrassing, dehumanizing moment, and they were lucky the hallways were empty because he was about ready to punch the next person who so much as looked at Croc wrong. He was so busy fuming he almost missed it when Croc stopped walking. "Croc?"

"Need your pool code."

GQ stares. "What?"

Croc shrugs. "Can't get in otherwise." 

GQ hadn't even realized they were at the pool. "Like, right now?"

The girl shifts a little in Croc's grip. She's slightly calmer; done screaming but crying steadily, with the small occasional hiccup reminding GQ that he isn’t the only one who just had a miserable time. "Why not. Got enough time to kill." 

It's possible GQ missed some important information during his exit. 

He punches in the code on autopilot and Croc heads inside. "Really? This is the plan? You're going to take her swimming?" 

Croc doesn't respond, just heads toward the shallow end. GQ follows helplessly. "She's a baby, Croc. Babies probably don't know how to swim."

"They can swim," Croc scoffs.

"You don't know that," GQ bemoans. "What if something goes wrong? Who's going to help?" Croc glances down at himself before staring at him in disbelief, which, yeah, alright, that was dumb. "Look how upset she still is."

"Water will help," Croc says dismissively. GQ is ready to argue when he continues, "Always helps you." GQ's reply dies in his throat. 

Croc wades into the water, heads towards the side. The crying abates as soon as he dips her legs in. Just a bounce, then back out; another bounce, and back out. Soon she's straining to reach it, worries forgotten, and Croc sits her on the edge, lets her kick at the water while he keeps her in place. _ Ask me about her treatment now_, GQ thinks viciously, but then they'd get to see this, and GQ wants that even less. He sits down behind her after a while, takes over baby wrangling duty while Croc heads for the deeper part of the pool. 

Croc wasn't wrong, is the thing. Being in the water does make him feel better; always has. Once, running on unused adrenaline after getting an abort mid-op, he followed Croc back to his cell but knew as soon as he stepped in it was too confining, wouldn't help. Croc watched him pace and looked the closest he'd come yet to kicking him out when GQ blurted _ I need to get in the water, man, will you come? _He wanted to die from embarrassment but Croc shrugged easily enough, and GQ pounded on the door and started working the clearances he needed to get them both out. He didn't actually think Croc would notice there was a pattern to it; he tried not to ask too often, didn’t want the well of Croc’s patience to run dry. But Croc did notice, which means it's possible he noticed—other things, and fear lances through GQ at the realization that he doesn't know what else he might have been less than careful about.

He'll have to worry about it later. A shadow is cutting through the water in front of him; he refocuses just in time to watch Croc break the surface. He blinks again—a perennial crowd-pleaser, it seems—and pushes a small wave at the girl's feet. His number one fan goes nuts, rambling and flailing all four limbs like she hasn't seen him in years, not minutes. GQ hopes someone has a change of clothes in her size because jesus, she's getting water everywhere.

"Whoa, sweetheart, hold up," he says, shifting over until they're on a dry patch. "I have clothes here but you might not. Let's tone it down a bit." Croc follows, settling a little closer, pulling his feet off the bottom and floating in place. GQ watches his hands move, the graceful movements he uses to stay afloat. His scales gleam in the water, infinitely sharper than they do when he's in the murky pool in his cell, and GQ tracks the color changes up the length of him. Croc's hand shoots out of the water without warning, grabbing the girl around the arm, and GQ twitches, startled, but Croc’s just—grabbed her mid-fall, because GQ didn’t. GQ didn’t because he didn't even notice, and the reason he didn't notice— 

Is currently giving him an assessing look from his spot in the pool. GQ flushes from his ears down and watches Croc's gaze sharpen. Fuck. 

"Will—can you—" he tries, but Croc settles one hand on the lip of the pool next to his thigh and he trails off, useless. He tries again. "Towels. We need—can you watch her? I'm gonna—" Croc nods, barely perceptible, and his hand skims over GQ's thigh when he moves to secure their charge. GQ all but bolts away from the pool. 

If he takes a long moment to breathe by himself in the locker room before he heads back out, no one saw it to prove it. 

Croc's in the water when GQ is let into his cell. "She off?"

“Yeah,” GQ says. He walks up to the edge of the pool. “Flag’s got her, taking her back.” Croc’s making wide, lazy circles, and GQ watches him quietly for a minute, the smooth trail he leaves in his wake. “You can imagine how well the hand-off went,” he says wryly. 

The corner of Croc’s mouth twitches. GQ rocks a little on the balls of his feet, then toes off his shoes and sits down, plunks his legs straight into the water. The scales around Croc's eyes shift higher. “Whatever, man. It’s been a weird-ass day.” 

“Who’s fault is that?” 

He tips his head, conceding. If anybody else found her, this all definitely wouldn't have happened. But what if—he shuts that thought down fast, doesn’t want to think about it being even worse. He's still not sure he could explain why this was so important to him. He just knew, as soon as he saw her in that ruined car, that he had to take her. And even then, almost giving her to Flag—still coming so close to not having it. He's suddenly fiercely grateful Croc loaded her into the chopper. Saving him unexpectedly, yet again. 

"Thank you," he says. "For—" Croc's stopped circling now to watch him, waiting. His throat closes unhelpfully. “The help,” he finishes lamely. 

Croc shrugs, the water rippling with it. "Easy enough." 

GQ laughs, rubs a hand over his face. "Sure, yeah. We should radio Flag, see if he’d agree right now. I’m pretty sure the only reason she tolerated _ me _ was because she realized I’m the founding member of your fan club." As soon as it leaves his mouth, he freezes, closes his eyes briefly before dropping his hand. Croc floats for another moment, then kicks towards him. He rests his hand on the wall next to GQ’s thigh, a perfect mirror from earlier, and GQ swallows.

“Nah,” Croc rumbles. “She liked you. And you were good with her.” 

GQ flushes, drops his eyes. “So were you,” he says quietly. 

Croc’s other hand comes up and brackets him. He stares at it. Something about being boxed in like this makes GQ remember the chopper ride, the solid but careful way Croc held the girl while she slept, and he flushes harder. “Well,” he says to the hand, “Back to normal, now. Or as normal as anything gets around here, I guess. You won’t have to worry about taking care of someone, at any rate.”

“Why, you leaving?” Croc says. 

GQ’s head snaps up. Croc’s still watching him, head tilted. GQ gives a small shake of his head. They're close, now, without the need to sit someone between them; Croc pressing in slightly between GQ’s spread knees. GQ widens his legs slightly and heat flares in Croc's eyes. 

But he doesn't move, just shrugs again. “Still got someone.” 

GQ stares. He’s—jesus christ. GQ thinks about the hours spent in each other's company, all the fucking BET he's watched. He thinks about all the space Croc leaves for him, about every single time Croc went with him to the pool just because he asked. GQ had tried so hard to hide what he wanted, but now— He thinks about that brave little girl, and leans in, fits his palm to Croc’s cheek. The scales are smooth and cool to the touch, and he gently runs his thumb up the line of them, takes Croc's chin in his other hand and tilts his head up slightly. Croc blinks and GQ has to suppress the urge to laugh. 

“Fan club, huh,” Croc rumbles, shifting even closer between his knees, moving into his hands.

GQ rolls his eyes. “Don’t get too excited,” he murmurs, closing the distance. “Membership’s closed.” 

**Author's Note:**

> THE TITLE IS A HOZIER LYRIC AND NOT MY OWN BELIEF ABOUT MY WRITING I S2G


End file.
